Harry Potter: The Return of the End
by VigilantSempai
Summary: Unknown to Harry Potter, his actions at the end of his third year leave a much larger impression on the world than he could have possibly imagined. Now, magical creatures are afoot, and sorcery the likes of which haven't been seen in millennia is within the grasp of all, good and evil. Things are looking up, but something grows in the shadows... Something very sinister. Harry/multi
1. Unforeseen Divergence

AN: Hello one and all, VigilantSempai here with the first chapter of my new story, Harry Potter: The Return of the End. This story is going to feature a much larger wizarding world as well as take advantage of the magical aspect of the world that JK Rowling has made, or so I hope. I already have a good portion of the story worked out in my head, so all that is left to do is get it down, but that's easier said than done.

Without further ado I give you the first chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, other than the OC and the story. I make no money from this, nor do I plan to try.

By the end of the first week back, all the food was gone out of the house, and Harry had been forced to admit that he was, for once, truly alone.

Stemming the flow of hot water from the shower head, Harry let out a sigh. Despite not having eaten at all the day before and this morning, he was feeling the emptiness in his stomach rather keenly but that didn't stop the contentment from easing into his body from being able to take a hot shower for as long as he wanted. Had the Dursley's been there it would have never been possible, but they weren't at Number 4 Privet Drive, and hadn't been since Harry had come back for the summer holidays from Hogwarts.

It had been like any other time they had come to pick Harry up from Kings Cross Station, up until he had gotten to telling them about his godfather who was a wanted felon that was now a convict that escaped from the highest security prison in magical Britain, who had been put there (unjustly, though he didn't tell his relatives that) for mass murder. And the man happened to be super protective of Harry.

The look on their faces had been priceless, and Harry was sure he was going to cherish the memory dearly.

But on the way back to Harry's summer prison, Vernon had gotten a phone call. Harry didn't know who was on the other side, but he theorized that it was the whale's boss, judging by the Yessir's, Right aways's, and the fake personality that the man had slid into. With a startling realization, Harry realized that his uncle would have been sorted into Slytherin, had he been a wizard.

Vernon had gotten off the phone with a victorious smirk and sped back, running more than a few red lights. He didn't say anything the whole ride after the call, except when they pulled into the driveway, to tell his wife and son to stay in the car Harry to go inside.

"Get in there boy," he had growled, though he had a gleeful gleam in his eye. "And I don't want you to come out of your room until we get back."

Harry had nodded, taken his stuff inside, and abided by the rule for all of the five minutes to get his things situated in his room.

Then he went downstairs to make himself a sandwhich.

The Dursley's hadn't returned that night, nor the next, or the next. By that time Harry had already realized that the Dursley's had abandoned him, and quite honestly he wasn't really affected by it. He didn't really need them for anything, as he knew how to feed and clothe himself; he'd been feeding them and himself for years as well as putting on his own clothes for even longer, something that his cousin had only recently gotten the hang of over the last three years.

Oh Dudders…

Harry had assumed that he didn't need the Dursley's and for the most part he was right, but he forgot to factor in one tiny detail…

He didn't have any muggle money.

By the time he had realized his predicament, he had run out of nearly everything in the house. That had been two days ago; and he used those two days to try and think of any solution to his problem. He had thought of everything from simply asking his neighbors for help (Which they wouldn't do because he was a well known delinquent), to stealing, to even going into his aunt and uncle's room and trying to find any spare pounds, but quickly discarded the ideas.

He wasn't a thief and he knew that if his relatives caught wind of him taking any cash from them, there'd be hell to pay.

So he was left with one option; going to Diagon Alley and living off of his trust fund like he had the summer before, after he blew up Marge.

Great times.

He had spent all of yesterday trying to get to The Leaky Cauldron by muggle means, but hadn't been able to get there, and ended up walking several miles back to Little Whinging. He would have taken the Night Bus, but that might require him to do magic and he wasn't keen about getting expelled from Hogwarts, but it was his only option now.

Giving a small shake of his head, Harry swiped the curtains to the side dramatically, though only he was there to witness himself in all his naked glory. He grabbed a towel, and dried himself off quickly before wrapping it around his waist. He made to leave, but stopped at the mirror above the sink. Wiping the condensation off, Harry gave himself a good critique, or as good as he could without his glasses on.

He was too thin for his liking, though he had a faint outline of abs on his stomach which left him a small amount of pride swelling in his chest. His arms were thin, reedy almost, though all muscle as Wood was a slave driver in the team workouts. He would like to be taller, but he knew that he still had a lot of time to grow. His usually wild black hair was hanging limp, over encumbered with water. It was longer than ever before, dropping down till the longest hair was almost to his shoulders. He'd have to get a haircut soon, but a large part pf him liked his hair and kind of wanted to let it grow longer.

Plus that weird thing where his hair grew back in a single night might happen again, and he didn't want to deal with that.

He brought a hand up, and swept some of his hair out of his eyes, allowing his scar to peek through a little causing his eyes to narrow a little. Ignoring the tell-tale Harry Potter sign, Harry's eyes finally landed on their own reflection. He had always loved his eyes. There had been a single time in his life where his Aunt Petunia had commented on how his eyes looked like his mothers, and run her hand gently through his hair. She had been drunk of course, and didn't remember anything after, but ever sense then, Harry had loved his eyes, and stared at them in the mirror whenever he could.

That was until he learned who Narcissus was.

Snorting at himself, Harry stuffed his glasses on and left the bathroom for his own room. The door was ajar just how he had left it, and it let the draft from the open window blow through the house. His room wasn't messy, though he did admit that he could pick up his dirty laundry and take the the dirty dishes down to the kitchen. His books lay on his bed in a haphazard pile, a large space in the center where Harry would lay. Having nothing to do in the house alone, Harry had actually managed to get a good chunk of his summer homework done.

Hermione would be proud.

He quickly put on some boxers and the only form fitting jeans he possessed. Digging through his room, Harry found a plain white shirt in his dresser and a plaid green and white overshirt in his closet. The shirt fit just fine, but the button up, having been Dudley's years ago was to short as the sleeves only went part way past his elbows. After a little contemplation, Harry rolled them up until they rode up his biceps.

Glancing around the room for his wand, Harry found it on his bedside table on top of the open photobook that Hagrid had given him. He quickly snached it off the book, twirling it between his fingers. It was a habit he picked up over the last week. Stuffing his wand into his pocket, Harry gave one last glance over of his room, noting that Hedwig was still out on her hunt and swiped his money pouch off of his trunk, before leaving. He made his way downstairs, locked the front door and left out the back.

He made his way back to the street before taking a left and heading for the local park. It was only a few blocks away so Harry took the time to appreciate the warm late morning air. It was heavy, impregnated with smog and the heat of the summer day, and Harry found himself missing the clean, light air that surrounded Hogwarts.

The park was occupied by several small children running around with their inexhaustible energy. Their mothers sat to the side, at the picnic table shaded by a gazebo. Harry couldn't help but let his eyes linger on the smiling face of the toddlers as they ran to and fro. He'd never been able to experience that, thanks to the Dursley's, and felt an odd craving. As he watched, a you kid, a boy with brown hair and a dirt smudge on his face, caught Harry's eye. The boy pauses mid stride, his head cocked to the side in confusion for a second, before he gave a large smile that Harry couldn't help but return.

He passed the playground, and took a right off of Privet Drive, and walked until he came to a deserted street. It was surprisingly easy to find a place that was secluded enough to call the Night Bus, but he still couldn't help but glance around warily before he pulled out his wand and raised it, a tickling jinx on the tip of his tongue.

BANG!

Much like the first time he encountered the Night Bus, Harry fell flat on his bum in his fright.

In broad daylight, Harry could see that the Night Bus was a large double decker, covered in a deep purple paint. Like the last time, Stan Shunpike leaned out, one hand holding onto the bus's frame the other tucked into his pants pocket. He looked much like Harry remembered, greasy brown hair poked out from under his purple conductor's hat. He'd forgone the coat this time and had partially unbuttoned his wrinkled white shirt, something Harry couldn't fault him for that as it was rather warm out.

Harry wasn't the only one who remembered the person in front of him, if Stan's excited excitation was anything to go by.

"Look 'er, Ern!" he called in his nasally voice. "It's cha Nelev kid, tha' was Harry Potter!" Behind Stan, a head appeared, rimmed with white hair, and goggles over his eyes that made them look comically large, the sight reminded Harry of the estranged house elf Dobby.

Ignoring the slight pain in his bum Harry stood up, and took out his money pouch. "I need to get to The Leaky Cauldron," he said, fishing inside his pouch.

Stan smiled, flashing crooked slightly yellow teeth to Harry. "Tha'll be sev'n sickles 'n four Knuts." Harry fished out a galleon, and stuffed it into Stan's hand.

"Keep the change," he said stepping past Stan into the bus. To his shock, the beds that had been there before had been replaced by rather ratty looking arm chairs. Getting over his surprise quickly, Harry made his way over to an unoccupied chair, passing one of the other three passengers on the first level of the Night he could sit down, a shout of 'Take 'er away Ern!' was heard, and Harry's face made contact with the floor.

Like the beds, the chairs on the Night Bus were not nailed down.

After he managed to get back to his feet, and plant himself in the surprisingly comfortable chair, Harry waited for his stop, looking out the window as the Night Bus sped down a sidewalk before speeding through a park; buildings, people, and swings sets all jumping out of the way before springing back into place, undisturbed.

How the hell did they enchant this metal deathtrap to cause all the things to do that?

" Aye there, 'Arry."

Startled slightly, Harry turned to see Stan leaning on the window next to him, a smirk on his face. "Oh," Harry said eloquently, "Hi Stan."

The man blinked in shock. "Y'know m' name?" he asked. Harry just nodded one of his eyebrows raising in confusion; but Stan didn't seen to notice, instead he was smiling wider, a smug look on his face. He crossed his arms eyes looking off into the distance. "Blimey, 'Arry Potter knows ma name. Wait 'till Chuck hears tha'..." He trailed off.

After a second, Harry cleared his throat, and Stan jolted a little.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said, and opened his mouth to say something else, before the bus suddenly jerked to a stop. Harry had to throw his hands out onto the side of the bus to stop himself. Stan just rocked gently.

"Allen Parkway!" he called, his voice carrying to the far recesses of the bus. Harry watched as a woman in clothes so out of date that she could only be a witch appear from upstairs and disappear outside.

The bus rocketed off once again.

"So," Stan started, "'ave a good school yeah?"

Harry smiled and shrugged. Despite figuring out that the mass murderer that had broken out of a high security prison was his godfather, that his best friend's former rat was a fat man, and that his greatest fear was fear itself, not to mention his teacher was a werewolf (which Harry though was actually really, really cool). "Fine."

"Well yer in fer a surprise this yea, tha' fer sure."

Harry looked at the man inquisitively, but before he could say anything the bus once again stopped, and Harry just stopped himself from tumbling out of his seat.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Stan called, causing Harry to glance out the window. Sure enough the familiar rundown shop sat nestled between two other buildings. The black sign hanging above the door read The Leaky Cauldron. Harry turned to Stan a question on his tongue, but Stan beat him to the punch. "You caught us on a good rotation," he said simply.

Harry nodded mutely, standing up and making his way for the exit.

"'Ave a good day, Mista Potter!" Stan called, and Harry gave him a half-hearted wave in reply. Stepping out onto the bustling streets, Harry made his way through the crows, hearing the characteristic 'bang!' of the Night Bus's departure. It didn't take long for Harry to reach the door to the wizard bar, and without preamble he stepped in moving to the side to let his eyes acclimate themselves to the change in lighting.

The Leaky Cauldron was lit by the sunlight falling through the windows. It wasn't particularly extravagant, being furnished with old but sturdy wood tables and chairs, a thin layer of smoke clung to the ceiling from the fireplace that roared even though it was the middle of summer. It was rather packed, with wizards and witches milling about along with an assortment of other beings. Harry recognized a dwarf, only by the fact that his whole face was covered by his grizzly beard stalking next to a tall pale man wrapped in a black cloak.

Harry stepped further in, intent on making his way to Diagon Alley, and by extension Gringotts, but his nose finally picked up the smell of fried fish, and his stomach seemed to shrivel in upon itself as it let out a slight gurgling sound. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Harry approached the bar intent on getting Tom to make him some food.

Forty minutes later, Harry downed the last of his third butterbear before setting the bottle down next to it's two brethren, a platter that had once held a melt and chips* lay barren nearby. Stifling a burp, Harry glanced around the bar, letting his eyes soak in the uniqueness around him. Next to the fire place, a old man sat alone puffing on a pipe , purple smoke leaving his mouth or nose every once and awhile in the shapes of animals. Across the way, Harry saw a woman whose hair he was sure had been a deep blue, but was now a bright, neon pink. The table next to her was being cleaned and, as Harry watched, the waiter waved his hand carelessly causing the plates, cups, bottles, and napkins to rise into the air. The man didn't even spare them a glance, but instead proceeded to wipe the table down, and turn away to stalk behind the bar the plates following following, while the bottles and napkins zoomed around a witch to land in the trash.

Harry let a small grin come to his face. Magic always fascinated him, even in school when he was surrounded by it twenty-four hour of the day. Sure there were times when he grew numb to it and started glancing over the moving paintings and moving stairways. He'd start dreading learning a new spell or wand movement. He'd curse essays that were on topics such as the danger of potion making (though with his teacher he thought he was allowed that one). But then something totally unexpected would happen. He'd see a snowman hopping around, throwing chunks of it's flesh at students, or decide to use a secret passageway and stare in fascination as the stones folded in upon themselves or vanished completely.

Taking a deep breath, Harry stood up, leaving a stack of coins on the table behind him. He glanced back at the woman on the booth on the other side of the restaurant, and saw that her hair had become short and black, a streak of emerald green running through it.

He couldn't help the fact that his lips twitched further upwards. He really hoped that magic never lost the novelty that it had to him.

Stepping into the back, Harry took out his wand, gave it a twirl, and lightly tapped it against several bricks. He took a step back when he was finished to admire his handy work, and was greeted with the sight of the sight of Diagon Alley slowly appearing as the brick wall in front of him started folding in upon itself.

In the sky, the sun had risen further as had the temperature. A healthy amount of people walked down the large street that was Diagon Alley, and the shops were all open. Harry couldn't help but let the bright colors of the shops bring him back to the first time he had come here. He could still recall the wonder that he felt, how he'd been totally mesmerized by the massive crowds, and weird things being sold. He remembered seeing owls and bats, flying around, and seeing people take out there weird sticks to do seemingly extraordinary things.

It had seemed magical.

Taking a step out into the street, Harry turned and started walking toward Gringotts, the towering structure of pristine, white marble. Because of the lack of a large crowd, Harry managed to get to the bank rather quickly, and he paused only shortly to admire the beauty of the building before stepping up the steps and entering the imposing building

The bank looked just like it had when Harry was eleven. Spotless white marble floors and walls, small black veins running through the smooth stone. The ceiling, Harry noticed was decorated in scenes of bloody battles, though Harry only managed to make out a goblin running another one threw with a spear, before he averted his eyes, the bright light coming from the impressive chandelier becoming too much. Eyeing the two long imposing desks where several goblins sat conversing silently with customers, Harry hesitated only for a second before moving to the shortest line.

It seemed that he got into the express line, because less than ten minutes later, Harry was looking up at the imposing goblin, his green eyes peering into its' pale blue. A feeling of trepidation started bubbling in his stomach.

"Yes," the goblin asked sounding slightly irritated, though Harry hadn't ever heard a goblin sound anything but so he couldn't really tell.

"Ah, hello sir," Harry started, and seeing the goblin's eyes narrow, he continued on, trying to muster up his Gryffindor courage. "I was-" he started, before clearing his throat when his voice squeaked. Damn puberty. "I was hoping I could get into my vault."

Seeing the amusement in the goblin's eyes, Harry flushed but didn't look away.

"I see," the goblin started, before turning to the ledger in front of him, or at least Harry thought it was a ledger he couldn't see over the desk yet. "And I assume you have your vault key."

Harry hesitated. "Er, no actually I don't." The goblin looked at him, the skin around his eye pulling tight so Harry assumed that the goblin was raising an eyebrow. Feeling as if something bad would happen soon, Harry rushed to explain himself. "I gave it to Mrs. Weasley last summer, but I haven't gotten it back."

At this the goblin's eyes narrowed dangerously. Before Harry could even begin to think of a way to get himself out of the hole he was sure he was digging himself into, the goblin turned his head and snapped something, the noise sounding as if he was speaking out of his nose and roof of his mouth. Harry recognized it as Gobbledygook. Another goblin, somewhere Harry couldn't see, replied before the teller in front of Harry turned back to him.

"Please, follow Sore Tooth," he said, though the request sounded more like a demand. The goblin pointed to Harry's left where he saw a goblin waiting for him.

Harry swallowed through his suddenly dry mouth, his eyes flickering to the doors in behind the goblin, before he complied and started walking, turning away from the door when the Goblin took him behind the desk that the other goblins sat at.

How had the day gotten so bad? He'd just been at the Cauldron, finishing a great meal, his first in two days, and now he was about to be taken further into the sole bank that all wizards were wary of crossing. He probably would never see light again. No, he'd probably be tourchered for loaning his key out without telling them first, and then thrown underground where the vaults were, alone until he died.

To his amusement, Harry saw that the goblins behind the desks sat on really tall stools.

The goblin, Sore Tooth if he remembered correctly, lead him through several passageways and corridors, once threw a door past some secretaries, even under a waterfall that left Harry as dry as he'd been when he'd been other side. By the time they stopped at a simple wooden door, Harry was well and thoroughly lost.

Sore Tooth, banged on the door calling out in Gobbledygook when someone on the other side answered. There was a silence, in which Harry took the time to read the elegant script on the door, Goldgrin, before another gruff call came from inside. Without waiting to see if Harry was ready, Sore Tooth opened the door and stepped to the side to allow the teen inside.

Steeling his nerves, Harry stepped into the surprisingly spacious office. It was well furnished, with a fireplace situated in the middle of the left wall and bookcases opposite it. In front of Harry, a goblin that he deduced was Goldgrin was seated scribbling away at a form. His desk was a covered in stacks of paper, neatly piled on top of each other. As he watcher, Goldgrin dipped his quill in his inkwell, the ink a sparking gold.

"Sit, Mr. Potter," Goldgrin said, and Harry heard the door close behind him. Quickly glancing behind him, Harry saw that the door was, indeed, shut. With nothing else to do, he sat. It took several minutes for Goldgrin to finish what he was writing, as well as two more inkwell dips. The goblin finished with a flourish and set the paper that he had been filling out in a pile, before turning around in his chair, and hopping off. He disappeared for several seconds, but Harry could hear the sound of a drawer opening, papers rustling, and then the drawer closing. Not long after, Goldgrin appeared with a thick folder.

"I have been informed," the goblin started, finally turning his eyes upon Harry, "that you are not in possession of your vault key."

Before Harry replied, he took the time to take in the goblin before him, as well as try and calm his nerves. Goldgrin was old for a goblin, or so he looked as he still had several pronounced and deep wrinkles. Despite having a full head of hair, Harry noticed that it was thin and grey that ran down the side of his face into a thin goatee. Like all goblins, Goldgrin had long pointed ears. When Harry's eyes fell on the goblin's orange ones he felt compelled to talk.

"That is correct," he said, slightly surprised at how steady his voice was. "I gave it to Mrs. Weasley and have not gotten it back, though I haven't asked as well."

Goldgrin waved a hand dismissively. "That is of no concern," he said. "What does cause concern is the fact that she had it in the first place. You said you gave it to her willingly, but did you bring up the notion of parting with your key?"

"Er, no, I didn't sir."

Goldgrin looked at Harry for a second, before his lips quirked upwards. "Mr. Potter, I apologize, I have not introduce myself. I am Goldgrin, the Potter account manager."

Harry nodded. "I saw your name on your door, but didn't know how to address you." They sat in a silence for a while, Goldgrin analyzing Harry who, after a minute cleared his throat. "May I ask what you were working on when I came in?"

"That?" Goldgrin asked. "That was just an update on the Potter properties. But we'll get to that later if that is what you desire. The reason you are here is because of the breach in Gringotts protocol. While it is not uncommon for people to let others close to them go into their vaults, it is expressly stated in all Gringotts contracts that should this situation arise that the key is to be given back within the next two weeks unless the original key owner gave permission otherwise. Did you give permission to the Weasley Matriarch?"

Harry's first instinct was to instantly say that he had. That he just had a gap in memory when he entered Gringotts, and was actually waiting for the key to return in the mail with his owl. Such was his loyalty to the Weasley family, but when he opened his mouth to lie, he caught the eye of the goblin across from him, and knew that any lie would be seen through.

Nearly swallowing his tongue, Harry decided that he'd give the truth.

"No, I didn't," he said quietly before speaking up in a rush. "But I don't want to do anything that'll cause her to be punished!"

Goldgrin raised a grey eyebrow, much like the goblin teller that Harry had just been with had. "Are you quite sure Mr. Potter? I know that you are close to the Weasley family, but this is an insult to not only the Potter family but Gringotts as well as a complete disregard to the charter that has been in place for several centuries."

Harry didn't even have to think. "I'm sure," he said. "I know the Weasleys and they wouldn't do anything incriminating, least of all to me. If you feel the need to look over the ledgers, go ahead, but I'm sure that it's nothing more than an oversight on my part."

The goblin pierced Harry with a long hard stare, one that, despite being rather afraid, he returned it with equal fervor. After several minutes of staring, Goldgrin slowly nodded.

"I will not be pressing any charges against the Weasley family, but I will go over the Potter logs and if I find any abnormalities there will be a full scale investigation." Harry wanted to protest, but, at the steely look the goblin shot him, he stayed silent. "Now," Goldgrin continued, ruffling through the folder in front of him, "As a precaution, the lock to your trust vault will be changed immediately, and a new key will be made and mailed to you within two days time. For today, your goblin escort will open your vault for you." Pulling out a specific piece of paper, Goldgrin set it aside before looking at the young teen in front of him. "As you are not of age yet, Gringotts does not have anything to bring to your attention, but rather your gaurdian. Do you have any further questions?"

"Um, who is my guardian?" Harry asked, having a feeling that it wasn't his aunt or uncle.

Goldgrin actually grimaced, a horrifying sight that involved the wrinkling of his nose and a flash of golden teeth. "That," he stated, "is a tricky question. While the previous lord and lady did express to me personally that they were naming your godfather, Sirius Black, as your guardian, but with his status as a wanted fugitive, he has been passed over and your guardianship has been passed to one Remus Lupin."

Harry raised his eyebrow, and opened his mouth to say something, but Goldgrin just raised a clawed hand.

"Now while nothing has stopped Mr. Lupin from accepting guardianship, he did not show up at the allotted office in the British Ministry or here, at Gringotts, to officially accept within the first to months after your parents passed. Because of that, the Ministry overlooked him and instead has elected a temporary guardian."

"Who?" Harry asked, his tongue suddenly too big for his mouth.

Goldgrin sighed. "As 1873 the Ministry passed the Heir Representation Act, or HRA for short. Under that law, if any ancient and noble house is down to it's last heir that is not of age when the previous Head of House retires or dies, then the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot is elected to take the Head of House position until the heir is of age, though he or she is allowed to decide if the HR Act of 620 is passed upon to the heir."

"Wait," Harry started confused, and hand running through his hair, "Who's the Chief Warlock right now? And what's the HR Act of 620?"

Goldgrin gazed at Harry for a long second. "Currently the Chief Warlock is Albus Dumbledore. As for the HR Act of 620 is of no concern to you, at least at present."

Harry sat back in his chair that he had unknowingly leaned forward in. "Oh," he said.

"Is there anything else that you have questions on, Mr. Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth to say no, before he remembered something. "You said that you were looking over the latest results of the Potter properties?" The goblin nodded. "I wasn't aware that there was any," Harry stated.

Golsgrin nodded again,before ruffling through the thick folder again, nearly going halfway through it in one turn. It took him several minutes to find what he was looking for, though when he did he took out a large set of papers held together by an ornate paperclip. Or that's what Harry thought before it moved and started flying around the room.

Goldgrin ignored it. "Yes, House Potter has several hundred properties throughout the world. Twenty in Japan alone, with several small islands as well." Harry's jaw dropped. "Most of the properties have been donated to several orginizations or family friends, though a substantial amount of money is still being brought in."

Quickly regaining his wits, Harry managed to croak out a question. "What propertied do I have in England?"

Giving the teen a golden grin, Golsgrin started flipping through the small stack of papers before he came whatever he was looking for.

"It seems that you have several throughout England, though most are in or around London. Let's see… there are several stores in Diagon Alley that sit on Potter owned lands. Two properties in Surry: Number Four Privet Drive, and an apartment on the corner of 72nd Avenue and 14th Street."

Overwhelmed, Harry took a minute to regain his bearings. Number Four was his? But the Dursleys lived there. But why was it listed as a Potter property? Was it really his? Or was the Dursleys the real owners? Taking another second to shake the jumbled thoughts out of his head, Harry refocused on Goldgrin.

"How is that possible?" he asked. "My aunt and uncle live there."

Flipping the sheet over, the goblin scanned over the parchment, before clicking his tongue. "It seems that it was gifted to one's Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley nee Evans by James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans as a marriage present." Harry blinked, but before he could really form a thought Goldgrin continued. "How curious. It seems that the apartment in 72nd is listed under one Sirius Black."

Harry perked up at that, the conundrum of Privet Drive having been solved. "Wait," he said, "You said that that was on 72nd and 14th?"

Goldgrin locked eyes with Harry and nodded. "It says here that it hasn't been used in almost fourteen years, though no one lives in it right now. Goblins were sent there over eleven years ago to place it under a stasis charm, under my command."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Despite Mr. Black being sent to Azkaban, he was never sent to trial. Because of that the property is still seen as his, as well as it being listed under the Potter properties, so I was obligated by standard procedure to put it under stasis."

Running his hand through his hair, Harry couldn't help but pick up on something that the goblin had said. "You said he never had a trial?"

Goldgrin nodded. "That is correct. During and after the end of the Black Wizard's reign of terror the British Ministry of Magic, specifically DMLE had been put under severe scrutiny for the amount of witches and wizards that got away from being convicted by claiming imperious. As such whenever they found any case where the subjects innocence was ever in question, which by principle is any case, they were quick to put them in Azkaban. It was one of the reasons that Bagnold was ousted as quickly as he was."

A spark of hope ignited in Harry's stomach. "So since Sirius never had a trial, he was technically held in Azkaban unjustly," he said. "If I manage to get him a trial will it be possible for him to be cleared of his charges."

Goldgrin's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Mr. Potter I would advise you to use caution when you speak of such things, else people would suspect you of being in league with a suspected mass murderer." Harry stilled at the tone of voice that Goldgrin used, wondering if the goblin was going to report him to the officials, but Harry found that his fears were unfounded as Goldgrin gave him a particularly bloodthirsty grin. "With that said, that is generally what someone in Mr. Black's position would want. Though with his current status at kill on sight, it would be impossible for that to happen."

Harry deflated, the spark of hope in his chest fading away to embers.

"On a completely unrelated note," Goldgrin continued, causing Harry's head to snap to the goblin, "As the Account Manager to House Potter, I am allowed to use it's name and money in small quantities. But, in this case, I would be allowed to fund a private investigation, as well as do research for a proper defendant in case of a trial and finding a reporter that will let people know the injustice that a person has gone through." Goldgrin paused and looked straight into Harry's eyes. "That is, of course, with the Head of House, heir or said heir's guardian permission."

Harry took a second to catch on, but when he did, the embers of hope in his chest exploded to a roaring blaze. He couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face. "If I was said heir," he said, choosing to follow Goldgrin's lead, "I'd give you, the Account Manager the okay to proceed."

The goblin and Harry stared at each other for a second longer before the Goldgrin gave a vicious smile and nodded.

"To show his gratitude, the Account Manager might give the heir a experimental magical item." The grey skinned goblin reached into another drawer and pulled out an ordinary looking brown leather wallet. "Said item would be connected to said heir's vault and allow them to pay for both magical and muggle items. Though the heir's blood would be needed," he added at the end, looking at Harry expectantly.

Nodding Harry leaned over and presented his hand to the goblin, who grabbed it and maneuvered his hand over the wallet before pushing his thumb nail through Harry's skin quickly. After squeezing a couple of drops of blood on the wallet which glowed brightly for several seconds before dying down. Letting go of Harry's hand, Goldgrin started rummaging through his desk.

"If you don't have anything else to ask, Mr. Potter," he said not looking up, "then I will excuse myself to do some paperwork."

Blinking at the abrupt dismissal, Harry quickly swiped the wallet off the desk and headed for the door before pausing. "Is there any way I can get the key for the apartment on 72nd?"

The rummaging stopped, and Goldgrin looked up, before he grabbed a blank piece of parchment and wrote something upon it, before holding it out to Harry.

"Give this to a teller and they will give you the key," Goldgrin said.

Nodding quickly, Harry took the parchment and left, finding the same goblin that escorted him there waiting for him. Without Harry even saying a word, Sore Tooth took off.

The trip back to the lobby was quick, though when they went through the waterfall, Harry had hid the paper inside his overshirt, deciding not to take a chance with it. Who had a waterfall in a hallway anyway? It took a little bit of time for Harry to get the key from the teller, but within half an hour of leaving Goldgrin's office Harry stepped out of Gringotts, not having gone to his vault like he had originally intended but ultimately satisfied with the whole ordeal

Harry gazed at the bronze key in his hand, the thought of living with Sirius floating threw his mind. He couldn't stop himself from smirking.

Harry frowned.

He stood in the middle of a park, the setting sun bathing the world in orange glow and overhead the sky was fading yellow to orange to purple to blue. The trees that surrounded the path that Harry was walking cast the brick path into dark shadows that were chased away by the week light of the lamps.

After leaving Gringotts, Harry had left Diagon Alley soon afterwards intent on exploring London a little. He could honestly say that he enjoyed his time walking through the bustling streets, looking into the various stores that he passed, he even got to try out his new wallet when he stopped at a diner for pizza.

Unfortunately, Harry forgot to take into account where he was, and found himself totally lost. After asking several people directions to 72nd and 14th, he had found himself in the middle of a surprisingly large park.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry sighed and started to walk further along the path, deciding that he'd just find the nearest deserted street and call the Night Bus. Just as he saw the end of the path, though, the lights of a building on the corner of the street across from him. He squinted a little trying to make out the writing that rested above the window. Despite his intent focus, he wasn't able to make out the words until he stood directly across the street.

Self-Defense Dojo

His interest slightly peaked, Harry started approached the brick building. It wasn't overly large, though it was long taking up a good portion of the city block. The windows were covered from the inside by blinds, but the light from the other side still bleed through. Casting a quick glance around him, Harry crossed the street and grasped the handle of the door, flinching slightly when a jolt of electricity shot through him.

Thinking nothing of it, Harry entered and found himself in a small reception area. Chairs lined the walls, and a moderately sized desk sat on the far side of the room. Behind the desk were three doors; one had a faded bathroom sign, the other was slightly ajar allowing Harry to see the office behind it. The last one, on the far right, was open, florescent lights streaming through.

"Hello?" called uncertainly. "Is anyone here?" Not getting a reply, Harry creeped closer and poked his head around the door frame, the words he was about to use dying in his throat. The room was large, taking up the majority of the space in the building. It was barren, with a wooden floor and cracked plaster on the wall what were decorated with several large cream cloths with words from a different language embroidered on it in blood red.

And there was a person.

He was an old man who sat with his back to Harry, which was the only way he could see his hair. It sat at the base of his head in a square patch of silver hair that fell down to his lower back in a long braid that was tapered off with a red string. From what Harry could see the man was wearing a black shirt, but seeing as the man was sitting down, he could only make an assumption that he was wearing pants of some sort.

Merlin he hoped so.

After standing for a couple of seconds, his eyes flitting around the room before he decided that he'd leave the man to whatever he was doing, but before he could take a step back the man spoke.

"Not so fast, Zéi."

Harry blinked. What had he just called him?

"Thief," the man said as if reading Harry's thoughts.

"Thief," Harry echoed affronted. "I'm not trying to seal anything!" he said stepping into the room, his steps resounding throughout the empty space.

"Nevertheless," the man said, his voice level and smooth, "you are taking something from me. Something that I have precious little of. Something that continually grows smaller and smaller."

Harry stopped a couple of feet behind the man, noticing the single candle that sat in front of him. What was he stealing? He didn't even have the intention to steal, so the guy was totally wrong in calling him a thief. Maybe he should just leave.

"Oh what a crooked person you are, stealing so much for me," the old man said, his tone taking on a slightly different quality. Harry, for his part grew more confused. He's taking more and more if it, though it constantly grows smaller. The man's patience? Perhaps, but patience can be regained. So there was…

Suddenly it clicked, and Harry felt his temper flare.

"You time?" he hissed, fist clenched tightly.

The man turned to Harry for the first time, his wrinkly face was pulled slightly as he smiled showing his surprisingly white teeth. His face was weatherbeaten, with bleached white and drooping eyebrows, the same color as his long goatee and mustache. The man's eyes were a pale blue, that shimmered with mirth and intellect. Taking all of that in within a second, Harry could barely contain himself from exploding at the old man in front of him.

"Right in on, my boy," the man said the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth crinkling slightly as he smiled wider.

Later Harry would wonder why his temper flared the way it did, nearly exploding into an episode that would be very reminiscent of his mother, or so he heard, but at that instance Harry couldn't find it in himself to be curious about it.

"You senile old man," he growled gritting his teeth, "The only reason I'm still here was because you stopped me from leaving." Let it be known that Harry Potter didn't like being called a thief.

"Oh?" the old man said, his head tilting to the side. His face morphed into a look of innocence though Harry still saw the sparkle in his eye. It angered him,as it seemed the man was making fun of the whole situation. "I was only trying to stop the delinquent who breaking into my dojo from stealing anything, but alas I failed."

"Your store was open," Harry said heatedly. "You didn't have a closed sign out."

"And that makes it okay to enter, Zéi?"

"I'm not a thief."

"Not only do you steal my time, but also the air that I might breath."

"The air is free for everyone to breath, you old coot."

"Oh, you wound me with your words. That makes you a burglar, Zéi."

Harry was sure that he was going to grind his teeth into dust with how hard is jaw was clenched. Biting back the scathing retort on the tip of his tongue, Harry spun on his heel intent on calling the Night Bus to get back to Privet Drive. Screw the apartment, he'd find it later, when he wasn't being messed with by some overgrown wrinkle.

Or at least that was the plan until a wall of flames sprung up in front of him before spreading out in a circle around him.

Momentarily stunned, Harry's hand dove into his pocket and pulled out his wand, only for it to be pulled out of his grasp. Gasping in shock, Harry's eyes followed it until it landed in the hand of the senile old man who now stood facing Harry. Harry's wand firmly held in his hand, Harry watched as the man stood up straight, his hands clasped behind his back, feet slightly parted.

"Why don't you stay for a while, Mr. Potter?" the old man asked, the twinkle in his eyes making Harry slightly angry, though it was tempered by his curiosity and, dare he admit it, awe. Despite his emotions, Harry kept his composure, eyeing the old man in front of him skeptically. The teen noticed that the old man was indeed wearing what Harry recognized as a traditional Chinese gi. It was a solid black, and looked as crisp as if it had been freshly ironed. On his feet, the old man wore black slippers.

As Harry watched, the man across from him raised his hand and, with a lazy wave, drew all flames into the palm of his hand. The candle that Harry noticed earlier floated up from behind the old man, and set itself down between the two. With another lazy flick of his wrist, the now small ball of flames shot toward the candle. For a single, terror-filled second, Harry thought the flames would explode violently, and he would die with the last thing he saw being the small smile on an old man's face.

Luckily, his fears were unfounded as the flame latched onto the candle wick, flickering only slightly.

The man elegantly slid into a seated position, his legs crossed in front of him, and his hands (Harry noticed his wand clasped gently in his hand) folded in his lap. He gestured with his free hand.

"Please, sit, Mr. Potter."

Harry eyed the man in front of him, resisting the urge to jump at him in an attempt to get his wand back. Not only had the man just done silent and wandless magic, but he had also manipulated the flames in a way that Harry was sure wasn't something a normal person could do. The old man was obviously not normal, even by wizarding standards, but something about the way he held himself made Harry think that even if he did have his wand that the man wouldn't have to rely upon magic to defeat him.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Harry knew when he was defeated. In contrast to what others might think, he actually did think about the things he did before he did the, admittedly not to such a deep degree as Hermione, but still enough to have a small amount of confidence in his actions. At least that what it looked like when he looked back at all the crap that he, Ron and Hermione had gone through at Hogwarts; and with all those adventures, Harry liked to think that he'd picked up on a at least a good sixth sense of intuition.

Plus he doubted he would be able to get away if he tried.

With a sigh, Harry slowly lowered himself until he mirrored the man across from him, noting that he wasn't as smooth or comfortable as the man across from him.

He idly realized that the wood was cool and not hot like he thought it was going to be.

"So," the old man started, "Why did you come here, Mr. Potter?" Harry for his part realized that that was the third time that the man had addressed him by his name, and, even though his tone still held the same amount pleasantness, he got the feeling that the man was quite serious.

"Who are you?" Harry asked instead of answering. He stared hard at the old man, who met his gaze with a pleasant smile on his face, unfazed. Sat for several second, Harry expectantly and the old man in what seemed like serenity. Finally after what was probably five minutes, Harry just sighed. "I was going to ask for directions."

The old man's lips stretched a little. "I see," he said. "You are lost, yet you do not know that you stand at a crossroad that you can not see."

"Crossroad?" Harry started confused, before he shook his head. "Wait before that, who are you? What are you? How did you do that with the flames?" It wasn't until then that Harry realized that his mind was actually really jumbled.

For the first time, the man's smile faltered. "I am," he started slowly, "and have been known by many names, but you may call me Makarov, or Master if you accept."

"Master?" Harry began before the old man raised his hand and Harry found his mouth snapping shut before he could continue."

"That flows into your other questions." At this Makarov's smile came back. "As for what I am, i guess I would be called something more and less than a wizard. A mage. And as for 'master', that would be because I am offering to teach you." Harry's eyes widened in shock. "Not only to do what I just did with the fire, but in magic as well as how to defend yourself without it."

Harry's mouth hung open. What the hell was this old guy talking about? He didn't even know the guy for over ten minutes, and within that time he had annoyed him, trapped him in a circle of fire before offering to teach him. Not to say that Harry wasn't interested, he was. Incredibly so, not just because he actually was very curious about what the Makarov had done with the flames, but had also caught his interest at the work magic. How was that possible? It wasn't like Harry could do magic outside of school, so how'd this guy teach him?

'Wait,' Harry thought. 'Why in Morgana's name am I even giving this guy a chance? Much less even thinking about it?' Despite his thoughts, Harry couldn't even help be intrigued by the man's words and offer. Protect yourself without magic? Like hand-to-hand- fighting?

Harry swallowed thickly. "Why?" he asked.

"Do you remember that shock that you felt when you touched the door handle?" Makarov asked. He nodded. "That was a special type of magic that I have set up around the perimeter. In short, I was able to gauge your potential by that, and from what I've seen, you have a great deal. Not only that, but you were able to figure out my riddle rather quickly, a test that I used to test your mentality."

"So… you want to teach me because I have potential?" Harry asked, hiding how flattered he felt by that. He didn't get complimented like that often.

A puff of air left Makarov's nose, his eyes becoming more intense. "My way of… teaching and using magic has steadily been forgotten in the world outside of where it originated, and it has always been a dream of mine to pass my teachings to others outside of my home."

"Where do you come from?" Harry blurted out, immediately flushing.

Makarov waived the hand holding Harry's wand in the air. "A far off land that you won't know about. But that is neither here nor there, Harry Potter. Will you accept?"

Harry bit his lip. "How will you teach me magic? I can't do magic outside school."

"That will only be revealed only if you accept."

Harry nodded, understanding. "What times would I have to train?"

Makarov raised an eyebrow. "Again, that will only be given if you accept."

Running a hand through his hair, Harry shoved down his growing irritation. Nobody had managed to push his buttons so quickly besides Draco Malfoy. "How long will you be able to teach me?" Makarov shrugged, and Harry threw his hands in the air in exasperation. "What can you tell me!?"

"You'll look really cool when we're finished."

Harry slammed a palm against his forehead. This old man was infuriating. But when Harry looked back at Makarov, something deep within himself told him that he should accept,if only to alleviate the boredom that he was undoubtedly going to have when he finished all of his summer homework. He had planned on just reading a bunch of books, and maybe trying to find a way to get to the Burrow early. But now he actually had something to take up his time until the Weasleys contacted him.

Plus the fire manipulation would probably come in handy.

Ignoring the strange feeling welling up in his stomach, Harry slowly nodded to Makarov. "Yeah, I accept."

Giving Harry a large smile, Makarov held out his right hand, Harry's wand held between his middle and ring finger. "Grab onto my forearm," he said.

His eyes flickering from his wand to the old man's pale blue eyes, Harry reached forward and grasped the man's forearm, the cloth that Makarov's gi was made out of was soft but felt durable. Harry's wand tip pressed against his bare forearm, and Makarov grasped his arm with surprising strength

Before Harry could say anything, Makarov started chanting in a language Harry couldn't understand. He didn't have a lot of time to try and decipher the words, as a sharp pain came from where his wand tip pressed against his bare skin. Hissing at the pain, though he was accustomed to it, Harry pushed through the pain and glanced at his forearm. What he was made his eyes widen.

Spreading like a drop of ink on a blank piece of parchment was an ever growing black dot. As he watched, the dot stopped growing in some places and branched out, into a single intricate design. It took several minutes of Makarov chanting and constant pain for whatever he was doing to finish. When he was finished, Harry was witnessed to something akin to a tattoo being placed on his forearm.

At a point the black had spread around his arm several times in thick lines, the thinnest having actually wrapped around the palm of his hand and onto his middle finger until it ended at it's tipr. The further up his forearm that the black line had gone, the thicker it got, until it branched off into what Harry recognized as four limbs and two wings, before it all ended toward the crook of his elbow with a large angular head colored a solid black.

It was a dragon, Harry realized, intricately wrapped around his arm with its tail curled around his wrist and hand, while the body was engraved around his forearm. As Harry watched, the dragon seemed to open an eye and gaze at him, before the head was nothing more than a solid mass of black again.

"That," Makarov said, his slightly strained voice stopping Harry from flipping out, "Is my mark. It symbolizes that I have taken you as a pupil and that you have accepted willingly."

Nodding mutely, Harry watched as Makarov gracefully stood up, before walking passed Harry and disappearing out the entrance. He reappeared a couple of minutes later, a small pile of books floating next to him.

"Now that you are my pupil," he said to Harry when he sat down again, "I can actually answer your questions from earlier. I will be teaching you about magic, but nothing will actually be practice for about a month. By that time, if I deem you worthy, we will move on to actually practicing magic, but not in the way that you are thinking. These," he said gesturing to the pile of books that he brought with him, "are what you are going to start off with. These are books on magical theory and runic magic."

"How are those going to help me?" Harry asked.

Makarov smiled. "You are to read them by next monday, when we will have our first training season." Harry's jaw dropped as he glanced at the stack of books. There were about five, which wouldn't have been the problem if it wasn't for the fact that they were severely thick, though manageable if he got right into it, it was only Thursday after all. "This," Makarov continued not noticing Harry's internal dilemma, "brings us to the second part of your training. I will be instructing you for six hours a day every day with the exception of sundays, starting from four-thirty to ten-thirty in the afternoon. Is that understood?"

Harry hesitantly nodded, noting that he would still have a good portion of the day to himself.

"Good," Makarov nodded. "I did say that you will be learning self defence without the use of magic, and that means that you have to condition your body. Each day before you come here, I want you to have run for a minimum of an hour, as well as done fifty push-ups and one hundred sit-ups, as well as as many pull-ups, lunges, and whatever else that comes to your head. When you get here, I will lead you through stretches so that you don't pull anything, before we move onto hand-to-hand combat before magic."

Harry blanched. That was a shite ton of things that he needed to get done before he got to the dojo, not to mention that he had the reading to get done, and, if he guessed correctly, he'd have more to read and practice as runes was something that he saw Hermione constantly looking at last year. Once again giving a hesitant nod, Harry unfolded his legs out from underneath himself, before scooping up the books and standing up.

"Harry," Makarov said, and Harry looked at him to see the handle of his wand pointed at him. Shifting the books to rest under one arm, Harry took his wand, and stuffed his wand in his pocket again. He resituated the books.

"Why am I coming here so late?" Harry asked.

Makarov stood up as well. "I have classes to teach," he said. "And while I will without a doubt enjoy teaching you, that will not pay the bills, plus the real training will come after the first month is up."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry decided not to ask the obvious question and instead steered the conversation in a different direction. "Do you know where 72nd and 14th are?"

"Oh. So that is what you were looking for when you came in here." Makarov smiled. "Yes, I do. Take an immediate left when you leave the dojo, go down two block, and take a right. You can't miss it."

Nodding, Harry turned and walked to the exit, before realizing that he had one last question in the tank.

"Ah, master," he started, the words feeling foreign in his mouth as well as leaving a bad taste. "When I first got here you said that I was at a crossroad. What did you mean?"

Makarov's smile took a different quality, one that Harry couldn't place but felt that it didn't fit his face.

"That, Zéi, does not matter any more. You have already chosen a path."

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, a small glass of firewhisky sat in front of him.

He wasn't a man of excessive luxury, preferring a simplistic life style that didn't really reflect a man of his status. He did enjoy the simple things though. The rather sour taste of lemon drops was a favorite of his, though he did find sweets rather pleasent, more so in his childhood but old habits die hard. He enjoyed the feeling he got whenever he helped someone, something most teachers got, as well as the reactions that the new generation had when he wore he, admittedly, rather outlandish robes.

But of all things that he did enjoy, Albus didn't particularly like drinking.

It was poison, one that attacked the body slowly and never failed to kill given enough time. Not to mention it stole the inhibition of whomever consumed it as well as his reasoning.

Yes, drinking wasn't for him, though he had to admit that it was pretty much the only thing that he could do at this time.

Sybill Trelawney had just excused himself from his office, saying that she needed more tea bags for the upcoming semester, not knowing that she had just given another prophecy.

Albus frowned, taking the glass of fire whisky and drowning the whole thing before he refilled the glass, but he didn't drink again, instead swirling the contents, his eyes looking into the fire in the fireplace but not seeing. He was deeply troubled. That was Sybill's third prophecy, and the second one within a month. Even in lore, two prophecies within ten years of was bad luck, not to mention that if a seer had given two prophecies in the span of time that Sybill had, they would be severely exhausted, yet she looked to be just fine; better, even, than she had in awhile.

But that was not the only thing.

Several creatures that were thought to be extinct or have gone into hiding were moving again. Unicorns were forming herds again, while a large giant settlement in southern Africa had started making raids against the nearby settlements. A manticore sighting had been confirmed when a detective in America followed the trail of four bodies. Godlings had been seen again, shapeshifters were about, and a plague of scarab beetles were currently infesting magical and muggle Egypt.

Just the other day, Charlie Weasley had written to him asking for him to develop a new ward to subsidise the cages that they were using because the ones they were using weren't working anymore.

Even Ents were being reported

Albus stopped swirling his cup, overcome by a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time. His skin felt tight for the first time in years, no decades, and he felt his magical core thrum in his chest. The hairs on his arm stood up, and the blood pumped through his veins in a way that he hadn't felt since he and Grindelwald had been younger. Despite himself Albus felt his lips pull back into a smile.

Magic was coming back to this world. He didn't know how, or even where to even start looking as to why, but he knew that it was coming back and stronger then ever.

Unbidden, Sybill's words came back to his ears and the smile that had wormed it's way upon his face was replaced by a flat line.

The Harbinger has heralded the second coming…

Albus sighed. If Sybill was to be trusted then a monstrosity worse than Voldemort is coming, and he didn't even know how to start preparing for this prophecy, not to mention the other one or the wrenches that this prophecy threw into his plans for the other one.

Throwing back his head, Albus downed the last of his firewhiskey before he set it down and stood up to go to his chambers. He had a ICW meeting tomorrow about the triwizard tournament, and he would definitely need his sleep.

AN: So, what did you think. Leave a review, and I'll be sure to read and reply in my next chapter.

On a side note, I would like to tell everyone waiting for the next chapter of Catalyst of the Supernatural or any other story that the next chapter(s) will be out soon, so don't fret. The only reason I am taking so long to get these chapters out right now is because I have had a crapton of things happen in my life recently, and because I have another crossover fanfic that I'm working one, though it takes up a lot of time making sure I have a good understanding of the two storylines.

Anyway until next time!

Remember, Sempai will always notice you.


	2. The First Step

**Chapter 2: The First Step**

AN: Welcome to the second chapter of Harry Potter: Return of the End. I'd first like to thank everyone that read and reviewed the first chapter and I hope that you all equally enjoy this one.

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any recognized characters. I do own the OC's and the plot.**

Tonks practically skipped down the street, the unnatural feeling of Mad-Eye's mad eyes on her back being the only thing that made her keep a semi-professional outward appearance. The street they were on, Long Elms in Harrow, was surprisingly deserted despite it being rather cool for a summer day, not to mention sunny something England had a hard time getting. Crossing a street, she noticed a house with it's garage door open, while that wouldn't be a problematic thing normal, she was the student of the infamous Mad-Eye and was almost immediately one edge.

She had just managed to scan the road ahead of them and was about to do the same for behind them when something collided with her leg resulting in her _nearly_ face planting onto the pavement, though her hands suffered from her sacrifice.

"Get it finally?" The gruff voice of Alastor Moody came from beside her. She glanced up at the man, she was as familiar with looking up at him as she was with looking down on him. He wasn't overly tall, just over five-and-a-half feet tall, she was several inches taller than him, though her practice bouts with him showed her that her height meant nothing to him.

"You're several minutes late, Rookie Tonks," the man said, cutting off her thoughts. She glowered up at him before getting back to her feet and picking the gravel out of her palms.

" _I noticed_ ," she grumbled irritably, and she felt her hair shift. She had worn it long and blond, but now it was in a short pixie cut, a fiery red deeper than a Weasley's. Her powers had been acting different for several months now, easier to use, almost becoming an instinctual thing rather than than something that she had to focus on like before hand. "I didn't say anything until I saw the garage because you seemed so calm."

Moody snorted. "At least ya managed to react properly, no matter how late ya are." Tonks felt a smile pull at her lips. "But you'd still be dead. It doesn't matter if your partner is relaxed, death can come to both of you because you decided to be as lax as a bints cunt. _Constant vigilance_."

Tonks looked away from Moody, rolling her currently blue eyes. _'You'd still be dead,'_ she mouthed making a face. It was always like that with Moody, a back-handed semi-complement, followed by a reprimand and lecture.

"Mind the sass, lass," Moody growled, "Or I'll have ya assigned to the overnight watch." He didn't even seem feel the heat from her glare as he had already started walking away. She made a rude gesture at his back. "I saw that."

She just shrugged and started walking after him, until she was stringing next to him. "So why are you so relaxed?" She asked letting her hands swing at her side. She could heal them with a quick spell but she knew better than to use magic in public with Moody around.

"If you've seen the things I've seen Albus do with his wand, you'd know why I'm relaxed."

Tonk's huffed. "What happened to _Constant vigilance_?"

"Yes, constant vigilance," Moody agree. If Tonk didn't know better she would have thought it was some type of religious cult by the way Moody said those words. "Especially around Albus Dumbledore."

"But we can relax."

"I can, yes."

"That's a contradiction!" she exclaimed.

Moody grunted. "The world's a contradiction, and if you get to be my age, you can be too."

An exasperated growl left Tonk's throat. Moody was one of the only people that could truly infuriated her. Sure she could get angry at anyone, (she had a rather quick temper) but, more often than not, she'd forgive whatever happened after a heartfelt apology and let it be. But Moody was one of the only exceptions of the people that could really grate on her nerves. Not that she wasn't grateful for all everything he'd done for her Auror training as well as the several nuggets of wisdom that he beat into her, but he still got on her nerves.

One day he'd be a stone wall, hardly saying a word, more often not, before throwing curses at her or pulling her into a patrol or something equally boring. Other days, like today, he'd answer her questions in the annoying double speak of the adults, or worse lecture her for hours about how she was going to get her bum blown off one day.

She rather liked her bum, thank you very much.

"So," she said into the silence that fell between them. "We're gonna see Dumbledore?"

"Your not gonna see another human being if you don't shut your trap!" Moody said sharply.

In spite of his words, Tonks felt herself holding back a grin. She had just finished an eight hour patrol with Moody, and through it all she had been testing his patience, a recurring game between them. To be honest, she was rather glad Moody had made her change into casual clothes and meet him at the Cauldron. She had a rather large stack of paperwork on her desk that could wait until monday. She had changed out of her trainee robes as she called them, and put on a skirt, stockings and a _Wierd Sisters_ shirt she got at one of their concerts underneath an old, ripped jean jacket.

When she had first seen Moody in muggle clothes, she had expected to see something rather comical, but she was sorely disappointed. Just like the first time she saw him in muggle clothes, he wore black slacks with an equally black button up shirt that he wore underneath his peacoat. He even wore black dress shoes, and a black bowler hat that he had tilted to cover his electric blue magic eye, leaving his dark brown eye to survey the streets.

Luckily for Moody, they reached their destination rather quickly, because Tonks had been starting to feel bored again. And board Tonks equals annoyed Moody.

"Here," he said, turning abruptly down a path toward a particularly ordinary looking house. The building was made of weathered brick, and the lawn was slightly unkempt, and Tonks spied vines creeping up toward the roof from the second story. As she passed the small gate, she felt something wash over her, causing her and her magic within her to shiver.

"Ward," Moody said with a single glance at her, "a quick one. It'll probably be gone before we've even apperated away. Dumbledore's doing no doubt."

Tonks nodded, feeling a bit queasy. Just like with her metamorphmagus powers, her magic was becoming more... unruly. That wasn't right, it would be more accurate to say her magic was becoming more responsive. She could still use it just fine, better actually, but her spells and hexes were becoming more powerful. Her charms were lasting longer as was her transfiguration. After her bouts with Moody in the training rooms at the Ministry, she could actually feel the residual magic in the air, something that she only felt at Hogwarts.

Her magic, which had always been quick to answer her call, was now always even closer, quicker. It felt like it was just under her skin all the time now, and she hoped that it didn't cause her powers to start acting weird, it was hard enough trying to get them under control the first time. As a consequence, she deduced, she had become more sensitive to magic.

She followed Moody as he limped along the pathway and through the door without knocking. Hesitating for only a second at the doorway, Tonks stepped into the foyer of the house, surprised that no one had magicked the house with a expansion charm. The house was obviously a home, with the light brown walls and random objects resting on pieces of furniture and on the walls.

Tonks didn't get the chance to admire the home as Moody was already heading down a long hallway, she barely had time to wipe her shoes on the welcome mate before she hurried after him. She had managed to get halfway down the hall when, Moody turned right and disappeared around the corner. She passed the last door, before she rounded the corner and caught the end of a conversation.

"-to see you, Alastor," Dumbledore said before he turned to her, his customary grandfather smile and eye twinkle on blast. "And if it isn't young, Nymphadora. Class of '92, correct?"

Tonks immediately knew her hair was a bright crimson, though she managed to keep her tongue in check. One does not just mouth off to the most powerful wizard of the British Isles.

"Yes Professor," she managed to get out respectfully. "And I would prefer it if you called me Tonks."

Dumbledore's smile seemed to widen, though she could only guess by the twinkle in his eyes as his long white beard covered his lower face. "Ah, this argument again?" he asked, though it was more of a statement. "We have spoke of this at length in my office have we not? Nymphadora is such a beautiful name." Tonks visibly twitched at the use of her first name again, but managed to keep herself from going for her wand. She was sure the old bastard was quicker on the draw that she was.

"It's good to see that you have gained control of your temper," the older man continued, not noticing or ignoring Tonks' reaction, "though now that I think about it, your frequent visits to my office were refreshing, and constantly gave me a break from the monotone of paperwork. Alas I only have Gred and Forge Weasley to play the role of my savior now."

Tonks blinked. "Do you mean Fred and George Weasley?"

Behind his half-mooned spectacles, the aged man's eyes widened fractionally, before he started chuckling, stroking his white beard all the while. "Dear me," he exclaimed mirthfully, "it seems I have been hoodwinked." Tonks looked on as the most powerful wizard in Britain chuckled to himself for several second, obviously lost in thought before Moody grunted.

"Dumbledore," he growled, snapping the man out of his reven.

Coughing lightly to regain himself, Albus Dumbledore gave Tonks another smile and placed a wrinkled hand on her shoulder steering her through the doorway and into the room. It wasn't overly large, just a dining room with a large table and several seats that were mostly occupied. One was occupied by an aged man that looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, dressed in a ragged, grey three-piece suit with greying brown hair. There were creases on his face, though his eyes shown with a youth that caught Tonks by surprise. Next to him sat a skinny black dog, it's head resting on the table. Both the man and dog didn't seem to mind the fact that the do was drooling on the hard, polished wood.

Next to them was older man who looked to be just under Dumbledore's age, though that wasn't saying much as that man was older than dirt. The man had beady eyes with salt and pepper hair, though he had much more salt than pepper. He had flabby cheeks and jowls that wobbled when he turned his head. It reminded Tonk's of Fudge. Next to the man, Tonk's found Moody already sitting.

On the other side of the table, sat a woman with light brown hair pulled into a braid that she pulled over her shoulder. She had brown eyes, and almost impassive look on her face. She looked to be in her late twenties but Tonks knew that she could have been in her fifties for all she knew. Her posture was stiff, and her hands were folded on top of the table. Even with her blue robes one, she was the picture of composed.

The final person at the table was a man who looked to be as old as the man with the dog. He sat at the table with a slouch as if to try and blend in with the environment around him. Limp blond hair, and large, pale green eyes over a small thin nose and lips. He wore a brown tweed jacket, and Tonks could see the dark pant leg of his slacks as he bounced his leg.

Her quick examination over, Tonks made a snap decision and sat next to the only other woman in the room. Giving the brunette a nod, Tonks turned to Dumbledore who stood at the head of the table. She hadn't noticed earlier, but Dumbledore was wearing robes that were… normal. A simple set of deep blue robes rested elegantly over his shoulders, and flowed over his form until they pooled at his feet.

"Hello, friends and colleagues," Dumbledore started, taking the time to make eye contact with all of the people present. "For the benefit of young Ms. Tonks, I do believe introductions are in order." Gesturing to the woman to Tonks' side, he took a seat.

"Hestia Jones, Healer and part time Arithmancer."

Tonks' eyes went wide. Both those professions, even a part time, took an immense amount of commitment, not to mention the credentials you would have to have to get into at least one of them much less both. This Jones character was someone to watch. Getting over her shock, Tonks nodded at her again. "Tonks," she said, "Auror."

The blond man next to her leaned across over the table to give Tonks a smile. "Simon Jordan Clearman; _Wizards Worlds Worlds_ , American Chapter," he said. His voice was weezy, and distinctly not English.

"You're a yankee?" Tonks asked.

Them man, Simon Jordan Clearman, tilted his head to the side. "Um, no. I'm not from New York."

The man with, and his dog too, chuckled, while Moody just sighed in exasperation. "She means that your from America."

Simon had the decency to look sheepish. "Oh," he said. "Well then, yes, I suppose I am."

The old man next to Moody, caught her eye and he tilted his head in a small bow. "Dedalus Diggle, Historian. It is a pleasure to meet you Ms. Tonks."

Unsure of what to do, Tonks dipped her head a little. "Er, thanks." Diggles' way of speaking sounded stiff and proper in a way that matched Jones' posture. Her eyes flicked to Diggle for a second, before she turned to the last man.

"Remus Lupin," he said, "Unemployed. And this is Padfoot."

At the casual way that the man admitted his work status, and the happy bark that the dog gave, Tonks couldn't help but chuckle a bit.

"And I," Dumbledore said, drawing everyone's attention, "am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"We know perfectly well who you are," Diggle said, with more than a little exasperation. "And we also know your titles without you reminding us that you hold three very prestigious jobs, Albus."

"Dedalus you wound me," Dumbledore said, placing a hand upon his chest over his beard. "It was never my intention to 'lord' anything over any of you, only to introduce myself properly."

"He never said anything about you 'lording' anything, Albus," Lupin said, a small smile on his lips.

"Well," Dumbledore said, ignoring the last several seconds entirely, "Onto the topic for today." He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table much like Jones beside her. "I have asked all of you here today to discuss a topic of great importance. I am under the belief that the Order of the Phoenix is to be recreated."

At his words, several things happened. Remus' gaze sharpened, the lines on his face deepening, Padfoot looked at the aged headmaster with a tilted head. Diggle paled, while Tonks, Jones, and Clearman looked on confused. The most profound reaction though was from Moody, who surged to his feet, his chair skidding back a little.

"The Order was only formed because of that old student of yours," he growled. Moody had taken off his hat and now both of his eyes were pinned upon Dumbledore. "You have better have a good reason as to why you are suggesting this."

"Peace friend," the long-bearded wizard said raising his hand and forming a strange sign. He kept his middle, ring, and pinky finger straight, but bent his pointer finger and thumb as if they were part of a claw. At seeing the sign, Moody huffed but sat down. Dumbledore coughed into his fist, drawing everyone's attention again, though the tension in the room was noticeably thicker. "The reason I am inclined to create the order again, is because magic is coming back into the world."

Everyone in the room, sans Moody, tilted their head, though Tonks noted that Padfoot was nosing at Remus' arm.

"Let me explain what the Order of Phoenix was for those that don't know," Dumbledore said. "The Order, was and will be a vigilante group that works outside the government's influence to ensure the safety of world, muggle and magical alike. It was first created just after the rise of Lord Voldemort." At the name,Toks flinched, and Jones' arms jolted violently. "During the war, The Order's primary mission was to protect as many people and save as many lives as possible, while trying to put an end to the war as soon as possible."

"Sounds like you had a lot on your plate," Simon said.

"Indeed, we did, Mr. Clearman," Dumbledore replied. "And while we were not always successful, the war did end on a better note than it could have which is all that we could ask for." There Dumbledore stopped, his blue eyes unfocusing for several seconds before they snapped back to the present. "Currently, The Order will serve a different purpose."

"Because magic is coming backing to the world?" Diggle asked, excitement in his voice.

"Indeed, my old friend," Dumbledore agreed, a small smile on his face before it gave way to a much more grave look. "That itself is a much more sensitive topic than many would believe."

Tonks raised her hand, gaining everyone's attention. "Um, how is that a sensitive topic? And what does that have to do with the Order or us?" She asked. All heads swiveled back to Dumbledore, who was smiling again.

"Were we at Hogwarts, I would have awarded five point to Hufflepuff for asking the most relevant question. Good job Nymphadora." Tonks twitch in her seat, both at the use of her given name and for being treated like a first year student. "But indeed a more in depth explanation is needed, perhaps a history lesson, hmm? Dedalus, when was the last documented ritual in the land of England?"

Diggle frowned thinking for several seconds. "1835 by the alchemist Johann Swirtz."

The headmaster beamed. "Indeed! He attempted a ritual that was to augment one's skin with properties of whatever specified metal was to be used in the ritual, in this case it was a small nugget of titanium,. The ritual resulted in Mr. Swirtz's death, as well as many others and a large amount of property damage that was reported as the result of a gas leak and several pound of dynamite. Extremely unfortunate, but it isn't the instance itself that I wish to highlight, but rather the direct consequences of it.

"You see, when the Ministry of Magic investigated the scene, they found the remains of the ritual circle carved onto several pieces of debris. After examination from both the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Unspeakables of the Department of Mysteries they concluded that the ritual circle was carved perfectly. If the ritual circle was carved perfectly then why did Mr. Swirtz meet his unfortunate demise?"

The room was silent for several moments as everyone contemplated Dumbledore's question. For Tonks she could honest say she didn't know. She had a very limited knowledge of rituals, and beyond that rituals needed a runic circle and the correct ingredients for said ritual she didn't know what else would be needed.

"The incantation," Remus said, causing everyone to turn to him. The man flushed, but still explained. "I only have a rudimentary understanding of rituals, but I do know that it has a similarity to warding, where the wand movements, another medium, and the correct incantation are needed to create a proper now that I think about it, I think I'm wrong and it has something more to do with the magic."

"Twenty points to Gryffindor!" Dumbledore exclaimed standing up to pace behind his chair. "And in a strange twist of fate, Remus, you are both incorrect and correct in your assumption. While Mr. Swirtz did indeed speak the incantation correctly, his magic was not the problem, or rather it was only when concerned on how it mixed with the natural ambient magic of the world."

Before anyone could say anything at his latest statement, Dumbledore raised a hand to stop them. "I know what you are all going to ask, so let me stop you preemptively. Ceremonial magic is a special type of magic, that much like runic magic, uses the magic that is naturally found in nature and the magic of the individual to work. I will not go into a deep explanation, because for a more thorough understanding more time is required, nor can I tell you any more about natural magic of the world as I do not know much more myself.

"To continue, or rather go back to the original question, the reason that Mr. Swirtz was, unfortunately, killed was because of the lack of magic that was provided by the world. This lead to Mr. Swirtz having to provide more magic on his part which caused an overload in several of the runes used in the ritual circle, which, thus, lead to a rather fiery explosion." The jovial smile on Dumbledore's face was quite unnerving, given the topic of discussion.

"After this unfortunate incident and reaching this conclusion, the Department of Mysteries had their unspeakables recreate the ritual, where a similar outcome occurred. Though no one died, a rather grand explosion did happen deep within the Department of Mysteries. Not a week after that incident occurred, a law was passed in the Wizengamot that effectively banned the use of rituals on British soil, a motion that soon passed through the rest of the world. Recently the law was repealed under the pretence that it was unnecessary to be specified within our laws."

Throughout his whole history lesson, the aged wizard had paced the space behind his chair, a hand thoughtfully stroking his beard. Several minutes passed, while Dumbledore kept pacing, mumbling softly to himself, while the others looked on.

Hestia Jones cleared her throat, snapping everyone from their though. Clearman even jumped in fright. "While I do appreciate the history lesson, again, what does this have to do with us? How is this relevant to magic coming back into the world?"

Dumbledore looked confused for a second, before it gave way to surprise, and finally realization. "Because, my dear," he said, "at the last meeting for the ICW, a man from the russian delegation spoke of a man that had terrorized quite a few towns and had, I quote, 'skin the color and temperament of steel'."

Harry felt the blood rise up from his throat, coating his already coppery mouth. In spite of the violent feeling in his stomach, his blood only dribbled out of the corner of his mouth running down his chin to soak the cloak and shirt beneath it. A sharp throb came from his stomach that pulsed in time with his heart beat. His lower body was wet and his pants clung to him uncomfortably. With a tremendous force of will, Harry made his eyes focus on the iron pole that protruded from his abdomen.

 _'That can't be good…'_

Through the ringing in his ears Harry heard the sound of footsteps causing him to glance up though his head lolled to the side onto his shoulder. A figure approached, though he could only tell by the fact that his blurry outline got larger until he stopped directly in front of Harry, swallowing whatever light had been there before. For several seconds the figure didn't move, before Harry heard them sigh followed by the rustling of cloth. Harry got the impression that the figure was kneeling.

A hand grabbed his chin forcing Harry to look at what he supposed was the figure's face.

"Why do you kneel?" the figure asked, the voice seemingly coming from far away. "Why do you blind yourself to the illusion that they call order? To believing in this controlled chaos?"

Despite his position, Harry chuckled. "And… th-the chaos, you bring will be better?" Harry didn't know how he knew, but he knew that the person was shaking their head. They'd had this conversation before.

"Not chaos," they said, a finger slowly stroking his cheek, "freedom. Not the freedom to think that you have freedom, but true freedom. Freedom to think, and speak as you please, freedom to defend yourself, freedom to be with who you choose." At that the finger stroking his cheek stopped, though he felt something ghost it's way across his skin. Harry paid it no mind.

"T-that's no better than being an-" Before he could continue, a series of coughs racked through his body, sending waves of pain through his body. A hand gently rubbed his back, and Harry felt blood and saliva fall from his lips. When he calmed down enough, Harry continued. "-than being animals."

A hand wiped blood off of his lips. "Not animals, Harry. Strong. The strong would survive, and they would live their lives how they see fit."

"Surviv- survival of the fittest. But what i-if they're wrong?"

"What's right?" the voice shot back. "What's wrong? What is moral? What is good? Evil?" The figures voice dropped. "Love? It's all what we make it, changing from person to person. Why should we cull someone who was born in a society where their skills are not valued as they rightly should? Why should any child have to go through what you went through, Harry?"

Harry couldn't find an answer for that. Why indeed?

"Why didn't you fight? I know you were holding back."

Harry felt himself smile, and he found to will raise a hand to the one that cupped his cheek.

"I'm just really tired."

Harry jolted awake, hands clutching desperately at his stomach for several seconds before realising that the pain wasn't there. Chest heaving, Harry flopped back down onto his back, the panic that had temporarily taken hold of him slowly fading away leaving and intense burning curiosity in it's wake.

"What the bloody hell was that?" he asked softly, getting only silence in return. It took Harry a second to regain his bearing, and when he did it only left him more confused. For one, he was sitting on a rather comfortable black leather couch. In front of him was a light brown, wooden coffee table which gleamed as the grey light of early morning landed upon it's surface. His wand, wallet, and a ring with keys rested on its top. On one side of the table was a loveseat while the other had a chair, both the same as the couch he was sitting on. On the wall across from him, Harry noticed a moderat looking fireplace, bookcases on either side of it with several candles and a large dark looking painting hanging over the mantle.

Harry stood up, and glanced around, wondering where he was.

He stood on one end of a large open area, that was clearly separated into three areas. He was in the living area, the only part that had carpet. The dining area was a predominantly wide area, with a square, wooden table in the center, four chairs surrounding it. Further along was the kitchen. From his position Harry could see a rather general looking stove, a sink, just about a dozen cabinets and drawers, a fridge and freezer, and a microwave. The counters were white, and a center island with four stools was situated in the middle of the area. A long, large window rested above the sink. On the wall to his left there were three doors, that he assumed led to the bedrooms and bathrooms, as well as a closet.

Harry's eyes landed on a stack of books that sat on one end of the counter, and he suddenly realized where he was. After his talk with that old man last night, Harry had managed to make his way to the apartment that he had heard about from Goldgrin. Having been extremely tired last night, and more than a little overwhelmed after last night's events, Harry had barely had enough mental function to take his shoes off and place the books onto a counter. He hadn't even made it to one of the rooms, instead falling onto the couch and falling asleep almost immediately.

Eyeing the stack of books, Harry was tempted to try write off everything that happened last night as a result of his overactive imagination. A single glance at his forearm dissuaded him of that. As he looked on, the dragon seemed to shift on his skin, as if to get comfortable, and Harry felt a rush of warm flood through his body.

 _Curious…_

Tearing his eyes away from the seemingly slumbering dragon on his forearm, the black-haired youth stood and made his way over to the kitchen, eyeing the books briefly. The fridge was empty, and the cabinets were only stocked with plates, bowls and other things necessary for a fully functioning kitchen. Still though, he found no sign of food. With a slight frown, Harry seated himself on a stool, his books resting on the counter in front of him. Having been focused on other things last night, he hadn't read the titles of the books that Makarov had given him.

 _Runes: The Language of the Dead and the Not Yet Living_

 _Magic Throughout the Ages_

 _Arcain Theory: Wand Movements, Rituals, and Wandless Magic_

 _Languages: The Power and Meaning of the Tongue and Symbols_

 _The Connection Between Numbers, Magic, Movement, Speaking, and Desire- The Answer to why Magic is is the Way it is._

Harry cleared his throat. "Right, so first things first, breakfast. Then uh… " he glanced around, spotting his ratty trainers. Inspiration hit. "Clothes!" he exclaimed. "I need new clothes, and um- new stuff for this place, like food and um… an eye appointment. Yeah…"

He trailed off, before quickly realizing that, judging by the amount of light coming through the window, it was still early morning, and nothing would be open for at least several more hours. Harry glanced back at the books resting on the counter and decided that exploring the apartment would be a good way of wasting his time.

The apartment was surprisingly bare. While it wasn't lacking in basic necessities, besides food, there was little else in the way of it being a functional home. There were cleaning supplies under the sink as well as the closet which also held towels, soap, paper towels, and (thankfully) toiletpaper. The doors that he had spied earlier, did indeed lead to the bedrooms and bathrooms. The door closest to the kitchen was obviously a guest bedroom, with a larger bed than Harry had ever slept in, a dresser, and a closet. It was empty, though Harry had a deep suspicion that someone had slept there before.

The door next to it was the guest bathroom, complete with a shower, sink, toilet, and it's own small closet as well.

The final door had been for the master bedroom. It was larger than Harry had expected it to be, almost as large as the open space in the apartment. It was painted in a light grey that would have made the room really dark if it wasn't offset by the fact that the entire wall opposite the door was a giant window. Outside he could see the brightening English sky over the tops of several building and houses. Directly to his left, there was a large dresser, and to his right was a ornate wardrobe. They were both empty, though Harry did find that the wardrobe had more space than what was really necessary.

On the left wall, a wall that led to an obscenely large bathroom, that was obviously not intended for a single person given the fact that it had both a bath and a shower as well as two sinks. Next to the bathroom door a large shelf that practically overflowed with cases of records, a large record player resting on top or it. Finally on the other side of the bed rested a simple desk made of dark wood, a lamp being the only thing resting on it's surface.

It was only ten minutes after Harry had explored the whole apartment that he decided to kill the rest of his time by reading one of the books. He had spent the last ten minutes in the shower trying to draw out the experience instead of getting to what promised to be a boring read. Without clothes to change into he had been forced to put the same ones back on, so now he was sitting on the couch the stack of books moved to the coffee table while he stared at the cover of _Runes: The Language of the Dead and the Not Yet Living_.

It was a hefty book, and a quick scan of the pages showed that while the words weren't overly small, they took up just about every inch of paper. Sighing to himself, Harry decided that he should get started, and quickly opened the book to the word from the author.

It turned out to be a rather interesting book, and while Harry would never have Hermione's ability to read a book from cover to cover and be able to recite everything verbatim, he did have a rather good memory and was able to understand the majority of what what was written in the several chapters that he had read. With the amount of information he had been exposed to though, he'd need to start writing notes on what he read.

The author, Francisco de Barón, was a spanish magician that lived during the Eighth Century. Apparently while muggle societies all over Europe had suffered, the magical communities throughout the world had flourished, and their talents called upon heavily throughout the time period, in spite of the superstition about magic. Francisco, apparently, wasn't very magically gifted, barely having enough magic to be considered a wizard, just one of the many things that he lacked from the common person. One thing, though, that he did have in abundance was his intelligence. It was him that apparently sealed the monster that would later be known as Grendel and his mother for several years.

He did that with only runes, the only thing that his book talks about extensively. The first two chapters were about the origins of runes, symbols that were originally found in nature or used so much that the ambient magic of the world gave it a specific meaning. Because of that, old languages were the only way that one could use runes. Francisco wrote of the diversity of runic magic that the changes in a language causes.

He gave an example of how a simple shielding ward showed itself when it was written in a different language. By writing the same runic sequence, or sentence as Harry liked to think of them, in a different language where the purpose of the ward was literally ' _protect this area_ ', the differences were rather dramatic. While the ward with that specific purpose written in the language of the Celts produced four large, stone wall that encompassed an acre of land, a ward with the same specifications and nothing else written in Egyptian Hieroglyphics erected a yellow wall of energy the size of a house that burned anything, inside or outside, that touched it. De Barón conducted several experiment like that, all getting different results. After doing another series of tests, Francesco came to the conclusion that the more specific the runic sentence was, a similar increase in similarity between the wards themselves, no matter the language.

After that he had included several pages worth of runic symbols with lists of their meaning amongst other things. It was at that part that Harry realized that he'd need a couple rolls of parchment or, preferably, several notebooks to write all of them down and get familiar with them. Because of that Harry mostly skimmed that section, that surprisingly took up a good chunk of the book.

He did notice that he already knew several runes, as they had the same meaning in runes as they did in the actual language, like alpha, **Α** , beta, **Β** , omega, **Ω** , and so on. He didn't know if all the symbols in the language had the same meaning as they did in runes as he didn't know any language other than english, but he suspected it did.

He stopped reading at the section when de Barón started talking about how mixing runes would create better results, and lead to finding the 'Language of Magic.' Something that complex would only lead to a massive headache and that mix well with a empty stomach. So, after memorizing the page number that he was on (Hermione had nearly beaten Ron when dog-eared his pages), Harry grabbed his wand, wallet, and keys and left his new home in search of food.

The area around his apartment was surprisingly diverse, with shops and buildings where he could find anything he needed; though the fact that he was look primarily for a convenience store and/or restaurant probably helped. The home owned restaurant that he stopped at, a small-ish brick building a block away from his apartment, did a great job of filling his stomach.

Toward the end of his little exploration, Harry stopped at the convenience store and abused the hell out of his new wallet when he bought all the food that he'd need for the next week or two. He had originally just gone to get food for the apartment. Bread, eggs meat, milk, etc. But when he came across the section of spices, he had gone a little insane and bought everything he thought he'd need. By the time he left the store it was nearing midday, and the temperature had risen significantly, making the trek back to his apartment horrible, as he had to get there quickly to avoid the eggs spoiling.

After thoroughly cursing himself for impulsive actions and putting everything way, Harry had plopped down on the couch, his book in hand and tried to read, only to jump up fifteen minutes later exasperated. It was too nice a day for him to spend it reading inside, not to mention he still had to go back to Privet Drive and get his stuff. He sighed, looking out the window in the kitchen, before he snatched the book he was reading, some notebooks and a pencil that he'd gotten, and _Magic Throughout the Ages_ before he made his way outside.

He'd deal with all that later, right now he was going to find a nearby park and read.

Harry's days passed in a blur of reading and exercise.

The books, while laboriously long and dry, were surprisingly a good read. The information that he gleaned from them was very enlightening, and left him feeling contemplative whenever he finished one. _Magic Throughout the Ages_ , and, surprisingly, _Arcane Theory_ were the the easiest books that he enjoyed to read and understand, as both were dedicated to history that he found absolutely astounding, and base theories of magic like wand movements and such. He knew there was more to magical history than just goblin rebellions.

In fact when he thought about his History of Magic class he was actually angered with how the class was actually just a monumental waste of time. Sure, Harry did understand the goblin rebellions _were_ a part of history, but there was so much more that could be focused on. Like the war that the French wizards had with Russia during the Muggle Cold War, or the battle between Brugas von Heiss and the witch Dea that leveled a large portion of Germany and sunk an acre of land into the North Sea. Not only that, but why weren't they taught about the utterly outlandish magic that the Eastern countries wielded through mediums other than a wand.

If Binns had been droning on about how Excalibur was still missing or that the Japanese supposedly had a sword that rivaled the fabled english sword in power named _Kami no Chi Nomu Kanojo_ , which literally translates to _She who Drinks the Blood of God_.

Both _Runes_ and _Languages: The Power and Meaning of Tongues and Symbols_ were a little bit of a challenge to understandas Harry knew next to nothing of languages and Runes, though it did help that the books gave him a brief rundown of the languages and symbols themselves. Several times, Harry had to make a late night run to get some more notebooks for his notes.

The hardest book to understand by far was the one with the one with the most daunting title: _The Connection Between Numbers, Magic, Movement, Speaking, and Desire- The Answer to why Magic is is the Way it is._ The book was a migraine stuffed into a bludger that was spelled to repeatedly smash into his head. Not only were the concepts and theories hard to follow, but the wording made it that Harry had to reread several paragraphs that slowly to get the full understanding of what the author was saying. Just thinking about it made Harry's eyes droop and his brain pulse.

With all of the reading, Harry had barely been able to find time to exercise the way he was suppose to. In fact, he wouldn't have done anything if it wasn't for the fact that his dragon mark started burning if he tried to go to sleep without working out at least once in a day. Friday night was the only night that he had to be reminded to work out, as he decided to work out right before he went to bed to assure that he did it. The running was, by far, the worst part of the whole workout as he was barely able to pass the hour mark before collapsing onto the grassy ground underneath a tree in the park that he decided to do his running at. Everything else was easier, though the pushups and situps made his arms and stomach throb while the squats and pullups were absolute murder on his back and legs, especially right after his run.

On Saturday he did manage to get back to Number 4 to get his school supplies and old hand-me-downs, which he threw away the next day when he went out and bought himself some jeans, shirts, fitting boxers, shoes, and even a couple of jackets for rainy or colder days. He did manage to get also get some shorts and shirts for working out, as he found out rather quickly that his clothes did not smell good after he had worked out in them.

So it was two o'clock on Monday that Harry made his way to the park that he worked out in. It was in the opposite direction that Makarov's dojo was in, but it was large enough for him run around and not get bored by the repetition of seeing the same thing, as there was usually something interesting to see, and if there wasn't he could get lost in his thoughts.

There was already someone running around the park when he got there, though that didn't deter him from getting his own run it. He did notice, with slight jealousy, that the man had a set of headphones on, the cord disappearing into his short's pocket. Harry had tentatively gone through a small section of the records in his room and had quickly become amazed at the diversity that he found. Everything from Beethoven to the American artist Ella Fitzgerald to a genre of music that consisted of screaming and loud guitar cords was found and listened to.

The other person finished running, and, when Harry had asked him what he had, had told the teen that it was a mp3 player after giving him a weird look. Harry thanked the man and continued running.

He was so getting a mp3 player*.

He finished his run, and instead of going back to his apartment to finish his workout, he did so in the park, using a low branch for his pull ups. Throughout it all, Harry ignored the looks he got from the people passing by or relaxing in the park. When he finished he was tired and sore, but four o'clock was approaching so he pushed himself off the tree that he was resting on and made his way to the _Self-Defence_ dojo he encountered last week.

Makarov was seeing off the last of the parents and children from his dojo when Harry arrived. He wore the same black suit that he had worn, and his hair was still pulled into a tight braid that fell down his back. The last person had just exited his building when he saw Harry standing a couple of feet away from him. A predatory smirk crossed his aged face, and Harry couldn't help but suppress a shudder.

"Ah, the thief returns," Makarov said, and Harry felt his jaw tighten.

"I'm not a thief," he groused out. Somehow, the old man just got under his skin. The teen followed the shorter man further into his building, stopping only when he was in the same spot that he was in the last time he was there. The whole dojo was the same, even the candle was in the same spot on the floor, something that caught Harry's attention. Before he could ask about it, Makarov turned to him, his eyes alight with an internal fire.

"Have you been doing the workout I told you to?"

Harry scowled. "This thing," he said waving his right forearm in front of nearly bald man's face to show off the slumbering dragon, "made sure I did." He'd lost sleep over that thing damnit!

Makarov just chuckled, but spoke before Harry had a chance to snap at him. "Good. I'm guessing you just got finished." Biting back a retort, that was very much un-Harry-like, the teen gave a nod. "Good, well start immediately then. Copy me." Not waiting for a response, the old man displayed a remarkable show of flexability and leaned to the side until his torso was parallel to the ground. Harry didn't have much time be shocked at how fast the man was moving along, but hurried to follow along.

"Not like that, _Zei_ ," Makarov said. "Widen your feet." Harry did as directed, still leaning to the side at an angle less impressive than Makarov's. "Too wide," Makarov called, "closer. About shoulder width apart." Harry readjusted himself again, his breaths were already coming in shallow, while Makarov was breathing just fine. He attributed that to the fact that he worked out before hand.

The next half hour blurred together in a long painful series of stretches. Each time Makarov had him change position, he would correct Harry's posture, often with backhanded comments that infuriated the teen into growling something rude or mocking, that made Makarov say something else that dug at the teen, making him focus more on his movements. He'd then make Harry hold the position for a minute or two before moving to the next stretch, starting the process over.

"Control your breathing," Makarov said for the hundredth time, causing Harry to growl. They were both currently on the last stretch with their left hand and leg on the ground, their right hands held straight out in front of him and their right leg raised as high as they could get it into the air. Makarov's leg was higher. Harry pushed the man's voice out of his head, instead focusing on his breathing and trying to ignore the shaking in his limbs. "Relax."

The teen practically collapsed onto the floor, taking several deep breathes. He idly brushed the sweaty hair out of his eyes, barely noticing Makarov talking to him. "Sorry, did you say something?" To Harry's delight, he noticed Makarov's face twitch a flash of annoyance on his face.

"I said," the old man enunciated from his standing position in front of Harry, "that, that was the first step in what is called the Dance. A series of movements designed to familiarize one's self with themselves and strengthen their bodies. To push their bodies to the the brink by testing flexibility and balance."

"How was this strengthening anything?" Harry asked.

"Master."

"Huh?"

"When we are training, or I am teaching you something, you will address me as Master." Makarov elaborated.

"Uh, okay." The old man gave Harry a expecting look. "... Master?" Makarov nodded.

"To answer your question, I'll ask you a question: What is balance but flexibility and strength?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, looking up at the man. "Then what's flexibility."

The smile on Makarov's face made Harry feel as if he'd asked the right question. "Why, that's unlocking the full potential of one's own strength. But enough of that, get to your feet we have more to do." Harry gave the old man a look. He'd just done a full workout, then some crazy stretching, and now the man wanted him to get up and do more. Even if he wanted to he couldn't. His body, while feeling loose and better than he'd ever felt, was too tired to even get up.

That was until the dragon on his forearm glowed ominously before a large shock ran through his body, jolting him onto his feet with a yelp. Harry gazed down at his arm, appalled to see smoke rising from the inky creature on his arm, which was no longer asleep, but awake and staring at him with complete white eyes. The teen stared back, flabbergasted for several moments, before his mind rebooted and he turned on the old man next to him.

"What the _bloody hell_ __was that!?"

Makarov smiled, and completely ignored Harry's question. "I see you have the energy to be on your feet again. Come, it's time to train your body to fight."

Harry wanted desperately to throttle the man, but his curiosity at what the man was going to teach him and his slight fear that he'd be shocked again made him hold back. Instead he just sighed in defeat and focused on the old man, who just nodded, and started walking around Harry, issuing directions

"Put your right foot forward… point your toes forward… raise your arms, no lower… Shift your weight onto the balls of your feet… No, no don't clench your fists, you'll break your hand that way… turn your shoulders more…" After several minutes of directing Harry, Makarov stepped back looking Harry up and down. "I suppose, it's good enough for a thief like you, _Zei_."

Harry felt his face twitch.

"Before we start, let me say that fighting in is for the defence of one's self. It is a way of using your body as a tool to protect yourself and others against another, even if that results in the death of the other. Do you understand?"

Harry bit his bottom lip, but nodded. He wasn't altogether comfortable with the thought of killing, but isn't that what he had done to Quirrel? The man had tried to kill him to get the Philosopher's Stone, even if it was on Voldemort's orders. He'd been… unsettled for the next several weeks after the realization that he'd killed a person, possessed or not, even thrown up once or twice, but had eventually managed to make peace with himself.

The man had tried to kill him.

Harry had killed him instead.

There was nothing much more to it, and Harry wasn't going to let himself loose sleep over that night, at least not consciously, he couldn't do anything about the nightmares that showed up every once in awhile.

"Good," Makarov said, drawing Harry to the present. "Now understand, that to first understand how to fight one must first defend." He reached out and raised Harry's leading arm, his right one, and maneuvered it so that his fist was pointed directly upwards instead of at an angle. "This is to stop punches or kicks to the head and upper torso." He reached into Harry's guard and took his left arm, making it sweep in an small ark. "To stop anything for mid and low torso blows and kicks aimed high on your legs."

The old man stepped back a little before stooping forward and grasping the thigh on Harry's right leg and forcing him to raise his foot. "To block mid level leg kicks, and evade lower strikes and sweeps. Do you understand?" Harry fought to keep his balance, but nodded, giving a sigh of relief when Makarov set his foot down. "Good. Never used them."

Harry blinked at the man. "What?"

" 'What Master?'," Makarov said. "And I said don't block. If you are blocking you are on the defensive, you are stagnant, not moving, trapped and worst of all you are letting your opponent dictate the fight. Never let your opponent dictate anything in a fight." The last sentence was punctuated with several jabs to Harry's chest.

"Yes… Er, Master," Harry said, before a thought hit him. "Wait if I'm not going to block, then how am I supposed to defend?"

"Silly _zei_ , you are as slow as a snail. (Harry's face twitched.) Blocking is how you defend. So if you do not defend, you evade."

From then on, several hours passed in a blur. Makarov started teaching him about footwork, showing him how he should position himself and his feet when an opponent tries to circle him or move in any way. After he started on the actual sticking, with Makarov guiding Harry through how to properly punch and kick, using his hands to guide the teens body in the proper way. He made sure to twist his body when he kicked, to tighten his core when he punched, as well as not overextend on his strikes. Harry might never actually say it out loud, cause the man was annoying as just about anyone else he'd ever met, but Makarov was a great teacher; explaining things to Harry when he asked, a lot of the time when he didn't, and made sure to go at a pace that the teen could keep up with. They ended with a series of flowing movements, strikes, and blocks that his master called Katas, something Harry was suppose to do everyday when he woke up and when to sleep.

The dragon would make sure that he did just that.

With an hour-and-a-half left in his first… day of training, Harry asked a question that had been on his mind for a while now.

"Um, Master?" he said after he had finished the katas for the fifth time.

"Yes, _Zei_?"

"You said you'd teach me to use magic-"

"If I found you ready after a month, Harry," Makarov interrupted.

Harry bit back a snappish retort, and focused on his question. "So what are we going to be doing for the month?"

Makarov smile. "Magical theory, of course. How many of the books did you manage to read?"

"All of them," Harry replied. He had the pleasure of seeing Makarov surprised, though it was only a small widening of the eyes, before he gazed at Harry with calculating eyes. "I had take notes on all of the books to make sure I had all the important information. I don't remember it all though.

"Hmmm, indeed…" The old man trailed off for a second, eyeing Harry critically. "Tell me why don't you tell me everything that you remember."

His request took almost all of the time that they had left, and by the end Harry's throat was dry and sore, talking about the principles of magic, runes, as well as the laws, properties, and theories of them both was a long explanation even with Harry not knowing all of it. Honestly, Harry only knew the concrete principles behind all of them, the more philosophical understanding of them was something that still out of his reach, something that he told Makarov right out.

It was easy to remember what happened when pure magic clashed with ambient magic of magical creatures, wizards included, or that the concept of magick use and wizardry were two different concepts that was derived by the concept surrounding it's use. The theories were the hardest to grasp, as they all either contradicted an existing law or other theories, worked only in certain situations, contradicted themselves, or all of them together. It was maddening, and Harry was sure that he'd never truly get an in depth understanding of all of them.

"You gave a brief overview of the Gaia Theory, elaborate on it more," Makarov said at one point when Harry was taking a moment to take a breath.

Internally the teen groaned. The Gaia Theory was one of the more complicated theories that he came across. "It's a theory that magic is a… product of the world. That it's actually the sentience of the world, and that sense humans, animals, and everything else on earth is a product of the earth that everything possesses magic."

Makarov snorted. "That is a better description what the Gaia theory is than most would ever give, but it is still wholly inept." Makarov saw the affronted look on Harry's face and chuckled. "That is of no fault of your own. Tell me, _Zei_ , do you know what Gaia is?" Makarov sat down, folding his legs underneath him. Harry copied him.

"Isn't she the greek goddess of the earth?"

The old man shook his head. "Close, but incorrect again. Gaia is the primordial being of the earth in greek mythology, the entity that gave birth to the titans, and giants. She was married to the sky, and the woman that helped raise Zeus. As far as naming goes, the theory is incorrectly named. The theory itself is speculation that magic is an energy that is _universal_ , meaning it can be found in all of the universe."

Harry merely raised his hand. That was a bigger and much harder to understand, and harder to comprehend, than thinking that it was the result of the earth consciousness. How the hell did it get elevated to a universal thing?

"I see your confusion," Makarov stated, gazing at Harry intently. "Allow me to elaborate. It was only just recently that non-magicals found out that the earth was round, at least recently in comparison to when magicals obtained that piece of knowledge. The story behind it is actually a rather riveting story involving a dragon, a god, and the Four Winds, but that is for later. Sense even before that, magicals and all manner of creatures looked to the sky for answers. Seeking the truths of the world in the heavens and the celestial bodies. There is magic to be found there, or else centaurs would not have their gifts of minor foresight, and werewolves would transform every night instead of on full moons. Vampires would not fear the sun, and Hyms** would not feed only in darkness.

"Think upon this, Harry. Why would we, the beings stuck on this planet be affected things so far out of reach that we never have a hope of touching them? Why are there stories and myths behind the sky, and morning, and night, and evening, and so on? There is magic in more than just this world. Look upon the horizon, and see…"

Something seemed to wash over Harry, something that sailed upon the winds of Makarov's words. Goosebumps sprouted upon his flesh, and he suddenly felt so _small_. Insignificant. He was nothing, and yet he was everything, everywhere. As suddenly as the feeling came, it was gone and Harry could never hope to ever put into words what happened in that single flickering moment in his life.

"You felt it," Makarov said, making Harry's eyes focus on him for several seconds before he nodded. "Do you wish to feel that again? To have more time to examine and understand it?" Harry nodded again, numb. "Then I will show you how. Through meditation."

Mp3 players were commercially used in the UK in 1981* (Check the portable media player Wiki for confirmation.)

Hym- a dark, shadowy, devil-like monster that latches onto a victim as a phantom parasite that sapps the victim of their strength and sanity. Hym's latch onto people who have performed truly nefarious deeds.** (Taken from Witcher 3, and property of CD Projekt RED.)

AN: So what do you think? I know that the chapter didn't have a lot of action and Harry's premonition scene might be a bit overkill, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, even if it was a bitch to do, and am happy with the way it turned out. Be sure to leave a comment, with your thoughts. Any thoughts will do.

Until next time remember to cut your lawn, help an old lady cross the street, and praise that which is the Log! Until then remember, Sempai always notices you.

 _ **Preview to chapter three: Birth of the Path**_

" _You have taken the first steps, but until now you have been blind" Makarov said, holding the object in his hand so that it filled Harry's sight Will you allow me to guide you, to show you the land in all it's harsh but beautiful nakedness. Do you have the strength to see it all, and step forward unbending and unwilling to fold under all that knowledge? If you do, show me! Take what is before you and don't look back or hesitate, for there is only Death if you do…"_


End file.
